What I Should Have Said
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Oneshot romance. Sometimes, the right words are impossible to say, but impossible to forget.


**A/N: **This is a romance. Anyone who knows my writing knows that I don't indulge in romances very often, but I was listening to Epiphany by Staind and the feel of the song just got a story idea in my head. So I wrote it...so that it didn't infiltrate my other stories. ;) There are vague references to the end of season 9 and the very beginning of season 10, but nothing specific.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS and I don't own the characters. The two lines of dialogue I took from episodes are the property of the NCIS franchise, and I'm not making any money off this story.

* * *

**What I Should Have Said  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

"_I'm just glad you're alive."_

When she got back, all he wanted was to help her. All he wanted was to be close to her, do what it would take to bring her home, to make _this_ her home.

But he didn't. He backed off. He held himself at arms length to let her find her own way, feeling that it would be better than his stumbling attempts to explain how he felt. He kept all his words to himself, storing them up in his head for some time when he could say what he needed to say, what he desperately _wanted_ to say.

Over time, she became more alive. She was finding her home. She was making sure that this _would_ be her home, and they were all a part of that. He almost said it, then. He almost let it all out. He almost told her, but he swallowed the words and spoke others that meant so much less.

"_We'd be lucky to have you."_

Sometimes, at night, when he was alone, he would sit at his typewriter and let out all those words that he was hiding inside himself. He was beginning to feel that there was no chance to say what he wanted to say. When would be the right time? What could possibly be appropriate when they worked together every day, when she was such a close friend? How could he truly express what he felt without sounding like an idiot?

The words filled up pages and pages that no one would ever see. The words no one would hear. The words he wanted to say to her.

He watched her when she became a citizen, when she saw that the others weren't there. It was just him. Her face fell. Part of him knew that it was because she wanted all her friends there, but most of him thought that it was because he couldn't be enough for her.

The words were locked deeper inside.

He would still write them down, trying to get them out by putting them down often enough that the depth behind them would fade away.

Most days were normal. Most days didn't have the wish in them. He wouldn't let it rise up out of his soul when people were around.

Most days he could pretend that they were friends and that was all he wanted. He didn't try to insinuate himself into the conversations she had with others. He would look at her when he was sure she wasn't looking at him. He'd dream, sometimes, about what could happen if he could say what he wanted to say.

When she had left the first time, he had kept in contact with her, and treasured that contact...although he hadn't realized what he really felt that time. The second time, though, when he was sure she was gone forever. Then, he knew...and when he saw her alive. Then, he knew that he loved her, but he hadn't said those words.

"_I'm just glad you're alive."_

It was one of the biggest lies he'd ever spoken. If he hadn't been so sure that he would be out of line, he would have told her on the way home. Instead, he had pretended to sleep so that he didn't have to pretend just to be happy she was alive.

It wasn't that he'd never been in love before. He had, but something about her made him feel like a child, reaching out for the one thing he could never have. It changed how responded to her. It held him back because the last he wanted was to say the wrong thing to her. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to destroy the dream he still nurtured.

Instead, he found other people who briefly took her place. When he was dating them, he focused only on them, but in his heart, he knew they wouldn't last because she was always there at the back of his mind.

He was always alone with thoughts of her again.

If he could just have a little bit of her, it would be enough for him.

Then, he had a brush with death. The bomb went off. He had seen the glass from the windows coming at him. No, nothing had come of it. A scare, but it had been nothing.

But it was enough to jolt him out of his feeling of hopelessness. It was like the right thing to do had suddenly been revealed to him. It was like he had seen what he stood to lose. He had nothing right now, but was it better to have nothing and think that someday would be the right day or was it better to know for sure?

"I am glad we got out of this as well as we did," she said, leaning back with a sigh of contentment.

"Yeah. It could have been so much worse," he agreed. He took a breath to say it.

"It makes you think about what is important. Things like this."

He exhaled...and nodded.

She looked at him.

"Are you all right? You have not said much."

He smiled.

"I don't know what to say."

She furrowed her brow at him as if she heard something more that he hadn't said.

...but the moment passed and he couldn't say the words right any longer. He excused himself as soon as he could.

That night, he sat down at his typewriter. He started to type the same words again. The _right_ words, the ones he could never speak. The words he couldn't get out. The words stuck in his head.

There was a knock at the door. He walked over and looked to see who it was.

It was her.

Part of him wanted to pretend he wasn't home.

But most of him wanted to open to the door.

"Hi," he said awkwardly. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Come in."

She came in and then turned and looked at him. She stood there in silence for a few seconds. He said nothing.

"There is something you did not say."

He nodded.

"What?"

"I..."

The words just stuck in his throat. He turned around and walked to his typewriter. He pulled out the page he had just typed. He held it out to her. She looked at him in confusion but took the paper and began to read. She paused after a minute and looked up at him again.

"What is this?"

"What I should have said."

"When?"

"Whenever," he said with a weak smile.

She read more.

He just stood there, waiting. His heart was pounding painfully against his ribcage as he waited. He wasn't hiding it any longer. He had been open on paper as he couldn't be out loud.

"Why did you never say this before?" she asked.

"I never could get the words out."

"This is real?" she asked softly.

"Yes."

"Since?"

"At least since Somalia."

"So long?"

"Yes."

"And you never said."

"No."

"I am not sure if I should be flattered or furious."

He smiled a little bit.

"I don't know how you should feel, either."

"Say it. Tell me what you want to say."

"I..." He took a breath.

"You must say it if you mean it. I will not accept just words on a page. Words are easy to type. They are harder to say and mean."

He stepped closer to her. He took the page out of her hand and dropped it on the floor.

"I...love you...Ziva."

She stared at him, almost in disbelief, even though she'd read what he'd written already. It was as if she couldn't believe that he would actually say it.

"Can you feel the same way?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

She reached out her hand and took his. She stared at his hand for a few moments and the looked into his eyes.

"You mean it."

"Yes."

"You've always meant it."

"Yes."

"Even when you said nothing."

"Yes."

Waiting for an answer was almost killing him, but he waited. There were no more riddles. There were no more secrets. There was just him standing there, waiting for her to say if this was something only he felt.

"How many times did you almost tell me?"

"I can't put a number. Lots."

"And now, you are not demanding."

"I can't. I can't demand it of you. I'm just...hoping."

"You have always seemed so content. You have never seemed to need love from me."

"I was more afraid of you saying no. I was happy to be your friend, but I wanted more."

She bent over and picked up the paper. She read it again and then looked him with a little bit of a sparkle in her eyes.

"Do what you wrote you would want to if you could."

He hesitated and then reached out and caressed her cheek. He leaned in, very slowly, unsure if she meant it, ready for her to pull away.

She didn't.

He kissed her.

He kissed her as he'd wanted to for so long, and he felt her respond to his touch. Something he'd never thought could happen was now happening.

The kiss lasted forever and it wasn't long enough. When they parted she looked at him.

"I love you, Tim."

He opened his mouth to say something in response, but he couldn't.

She kissed him.

The words vanished.

The words were never going to make things perfect anyway. He couldn't keep them straight in his head, but he could feel them. Maybe there was more to say in a kiss than there was in words.

It was silent in his apartment.

No words were needed. He'd said the ones he needed to say. Now, there was nothing else to say. Not right now.

They parted once more.

"Those were the words you should have said," she whispered.

"I'm sorry I took so long."

"Never wait so long again."

"I love you, Ziva," he said.

She smiled and they kissed one more time.

Perfect.

FINIS!


End file.
